What Remains Unspoken
by Lala Kate
Summary: Emma moves West to start a new life for herself and Henry, but meeting a certain cowboy is not on her agenda.
1. Chapter 1

_This tale is especially dedicated to hisladyswan, my summer CS buddy. :) Hope you enjoy this!_

_Own nothing related to Once Upon a Time, but I love it all!_

* * *

It is his smile she first notices. She can't help but stare as he walks past, the fit of his jeans just right, the swagger in his step well done. He's the best looking guy she's seen since moving here, a cowboy she can't tear her eyes from, a man she just might enjoy getting to know.

Wait—where did that thought come from?

She's then pushed from behind as she tries to push those thoughts from her head, stumbling forward awkwardly much to her chagrin.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," a voice mumbles as her Diet Coke splashes haphazardly across her shirt. "Tight quarters here."

"Yeah," she returns. Damn. It's going to stain. Not much of a start for what's supposed to be a relaxing girl's night out.

"It's alright," she responds, searching for a food booth with napkins or paper towels, anything to dry the front of her blouse. Maybe this evening with Ruby wasn't such a good idea after all.

"Would this help?"

Blue eyes gaze back at her, his voice smooth as worn leather, his dark scruff simply begging to be stroked. It's him—the guy in the jeans. And he's holding out her his handkerchief in her direction.

Who carries handkerchiefs anymore?

"Thanks," she mutters, taking his offering and shaking her head, needing some relief from this cowboy-induced stupor. "I should have known better than to wear white."

A smile that should be illegal catches her off guard.

"White looks good on you," he hums. "But I suspect anything would."

She ceases wiping her shirt to catch his expression, the urge to flirt hitting her hard out of nowhere.

"Those jeans seem to like you," she offers, his smile targeting places she can't entertain in public, places she has ignored for longer than she can remember.

He then leans forward, almost brushing her ear.

"Thanks," he hums. "My mom picked them out."

Christ. He even likes his mother. Is this guy for real?

"You still let your mom buy your clothes?" she tosses back, raising her brows as he rubs the side of his ear. "Aren't you a little big for that?"

"Yeah," he grins. "I am too big." She flushes and catches her breath. "But you know how mothers are about their sons."

"Yeah," she whispers, his words hitting too close to home. "I do."

"Meet me here after the rodeo?"

His invitation hits her with delayed force.

"Wait. What?"

"Here," he echoes, pointing to where his feet are standing. And just like that, he's gone.

Before she can answer, before she can think too hard, before she can craft an excuse. Damn it. She watches him saunter away, wondering what the hell she has just gotten herself into, wondering what made him notice her in the first place.

This is probably a really bad idea.

She winds her way back to the bleachers, taking her seat and wondering where Ruby has gotten to, thankful for cloud cover to cool her heated skin. Where is he sitting, she wonders, and she scans the bleachers, having no luck locating him.

He probably ditched her already. Typical.

Or maybe he's here with someone else. Damn—if he thinks she's the kind of girl who'll move in on another woman's territory, he's in for a huge disappointment. One night stands are not her thing, even if the guy resembles a pirate dressed in chaps and a Stetson, even if she can imagine the taste of his kiss from one brief meeting, even if she wants to know his name when she understands such intimacies are far too dangerous.

She sips her drink, clapping for the barrel race winner as the saddle bronc competition begins. She hates rodeos. Why the hell did she let Ruby talk her into this?

Then she nearly loses her nachos.

It's him, hat and all, sitting atop a wild bronco, riding the hell out of that horse.

He's a competitor. Here. A star of the rodeo. The realization makes her swallow uncomfortably, and she watches him in fascination, admiring the grace and strength he exhibits as he rides the bucking beast for an impossible amount of time. She jumps from her seat when he is finally thrown, watching him roll away from the animal and stand with a fluid motion she can't help but notice.

What in God's name has she gotten herself into?

"He's good, isn't he?'

She turns to see Ruby, hot dog in hand, not missing the grin her friend is wearing.

"He's alright," Emma offers with a shrug, still following him with her eyes, unwilling to look away.

Damn. He's more than alright.

"Alright, huh?" Ruby muses, making Emma wonder just how she's going to tactfully ditch her friend by the end of the show. "I'd like to see what you consider yummy if he's only alright."

The crowd erupts at the end of the competition, and her eyes widen as the announcer voices the results. _First Place:_ _Killian Jones_.

His name is Killian? How the hell did he end up with a name like Killian?

Hometown Celebrity? Swan Song? Final win on the rodeo circuit? Who is this cowboy she's agreed to meet?

"He sure wears his jeans well," Ruby continues, casting her cousin a side glance. "Which means he'd look even better out of them, I suspect."

"Why don't you go and find out?" Emma bites back, trying not to give away anything.

"It's not me he staring at, is it?"

Oh, God—he has spotted her in the stands.

There's a grin and an elaborate bow too pointed to miss, and he blows her a kiss that draws way too much attention from onlookers nearby. Her back is patted, her shoulder squeezed, an older woman instructing her not to let that one get away, another smelling of cigarettes laughing that Emma is in for one hell of a ride tonight.

Her face burns as her body shivers.

"Yeah, he's alright," Ruby grins, nudging her for the fourth time in ten minutes. "You need to track him down after this shindig is over and take that ride, girl. I'll find my own way home."

Emma looks at her cousin, shaking her head decisively.

"You're making too much out of this, as usual."

"You're not making enough of it," Ruby shoots back. "It's time, Emma. It's past time, actually. You deserve to kick your heels up and have a little fun after all you've been through."

Emma sighs, wishing her life were less complicated, feeling strong nudges she has pushed down for years.

"It's not that easy, and you know it. What about Henry?"

Her cousin grabs her arms and turns her to face her directly.

"Henry is with Mom, and he's fine. You know she loves it when he stays over."

Yes, Emma knows this, but what she doesn't say is how lonely she feels when she is away from her son for more than a few hours. He is all she has. He is her life.

"Do this, Emma," Ruby insists. "Do this for yourself. Go meet that cowboy, let him buy you a drink, let him kiss the hell out of you, let him appreciate you for the woman you are. Hell, let him spend the night if you want. Remember, you are more than just a mother."

Emma raises her hands, everything spinning out of her control in a vortex that makes her dizzy.

"It's only a drink, Ruby. I don't even know this guy." Her cousin gazes at her head-on.

"It doesn't have to be just a drink. And how well you get to know him is up to you."


	2. Chapter 2

_Many thanks to all of you who have followed and reviewed. :) I hope you enjoy this next installment, and your feedback is always treasured! Own nothing, love it all._

_For hisladyswan. _

* * *

How had the rodeo ended so quickly?

Her heart starts to pound, her palms feel oddly moist, and Ruby is staring at her with an expression she tries to ignore.

"What are you looking at?"

The other woman's smile grows exponentially as she tosses her hair over her shoulder.

"Don't play dumb with me, Emma," she grins.

"Come on," Emma sighs, turning her back on her cousin before she can get grilled yet again. Would it be better just to sneak out another exit and forget this madness before it even begins?

"Don't even think about standing him up, girl," Ruby states, making Emma stop in her tracks. "That man is too yummy to leave hanging."

"God, Ruby, it's just a drink," Emma objects.

"Said many a girl before taking one wild ride," her cousin adds, prompting Emma to walk ahead of her by several paces. Her feet carry her to the spot he had indicated, and she stops short, suddenly extremely self-conscious about the brown stain plastered across her chest.

"I can't meet him like this! What was I thinking?"

"Let's buy you a t-shirt," Ruby whispers, grabbing Emma's arm and dashing her to a vendor's stand. She pays too much for a garment she'll likely only sleep in after tonight and stands staring at her cousin's choice almost slack-jawed.

"A bronco? With a low cut V-neckline? Could you be any more obvious, Ruby?"

Ruby bites her lower lip.

"You're too subtle for your own good, Emma," she fires back. "It's high time you let loose a little."

"And it's high time you grew up."

"Oh stop procrastinating," Ruby sighs, pushing Emma towards the ladies room. "Now let's go get you changed."

"It's a little tight," Emma complains as she stretches it over her torso, checking her figure in the hazy mirror. "God, my boobs look huge."

"That was intentional," Ruby grins with a flick of her brows. "Show off those assets, girl. I noticed he has no problem showing off his."

She pats her rear end for emphasis, tugging Emma's arm and pulling her out of the cramped bathroom.

"Oh, here's my hat," Ruby offers, throwing the Stetson on her head. "It almost looks as good on you as it does on me."

"I'm not wearing the hat," Emma insists, pulling it off her hair. "The shirt is bad enough, for God's sake."

Ruby giggles, putting her hat back on her head and grabbing her cousin's wrists.

"Don't think too much, Emma," she instructs her. "You'll just talk yourself out of this before you even let him get to first base."

"What makes you think he'll even try for first?" Emma questions, suddenly feeling as nervous as she had on her prom night.

"The way he's checking you out right now," Ruby states with a toss of her brow just over Emma's shoulder. "Now go rope in that steed. I'll tell mom to not wait up."

She is shoved unceremoniously in his direction, attempting to appear calm, certain she is failing miserably.

Damn. She is completely out of her element.

"You showed up," he drawls with a lazy grin, the sound of his voice tickling her thighs.

"Yeah," she sighs. "You didn't give me much of a choice after that kiss you blew me in front of the entire crowd."

His smile is downright wicked.

"Sorry if I embarrassed you," he hums, his cheeks flushing somewhat. "Nice shirt."

"My cousin picked it out," she gushes, lowering her eyes.

"So Ruby's your cousin?"

She looks up at him sharply.

"You know Ruby?"

He laughs good-naturedly, showing off a set of teeth she stares at more than she should.

"Since third grade," he muses. "Didn't she mention it?"

"No," Emma growls, shaking her head. "She neglected to tell me that."

He offers her his elbow, and she stares at him.

"Shall we?"

She hesitates another moment, swallowing down that annoying voice of reason screaming at her to walk away, and she slides her arm through his uncertainly.

God, he smells good.

"You're not from around here," he observes as she breathes in scents of pine and soft leather.

"No," Emma acknowledges. "I grew up just outside of St. Louis."

He nods.

"Branson is the only place I've been to in Missouri," he offers, guiding her towards a white pick-up. "Shall I give you a ride, or would you prefer to drive yourself?"

She hesitates, her brow crinkling in thought.

"I promise to bring you back to your car whenever you want," he promises. "No questions asked."

She stares into eyes too blue to resist, and nods her consent almost unconsciously.

It's just a drink, she tells herself again. Just a drink.

Then he opens the door for her and helps her inside, and her heart does a clumsy cartwheel. Just what the hell is she getting herself into with a cowboy who tries to act like a knight in shining armor?

Of course, the fact that he looks like a sexy pirate isn't helping matters one bit.

His truck is large and comfortable, and smells like he does. God, he's so close when he slides in next to her, and she has to suppress the urge to open the door and run like hell.

"Something wrong?"

His question hits her out of nowhere, and she forces herself to look at him, knowing exactly what it will do to her.

"No," she lies, watching his brow quirk in doubt. "I'm just not good at the whole going out/dating thing."

Hell, her cheeks are burning, and she knows she may have jumped the gun, and the wrong one, at that.

"I'm terrible at it, personally," he admits with a shrug as he starts the ignition. "Probably why I prefer the company of horses to people."

She gazes back at him in wonder, thinking she can't have possibly heard him correctly.

"Come on," she prompts. "Don't tell me you don't have women throwing themselves at you after ever ride."

His blush takes her by surprise, the way he rubs his nose with one finger strangely endearing.

"I'm good at dodging," he grins, and she laughs in spite of herself. "I would have thought a woman like you would have a line of men waiting at her front door."

Eyes meet and hold, sparking a low hum that resonates everywhere.

"Why do you think I keep my door locked?" she quips, unable to hold back an actual giggle as a grin erupts across his face.

"Smart girl," he muses as they pull into the line of exiting vehicles. "Men aren't worth the trouble."

The rest of the journey is made in silence, accompanied by Rascal Flats, Brad Paisley and some feisty Miranda Lambert. She stares out the window, casting hesitant glances in his direction that are always met by a half smile.

God—those lips. Just a drink, she tells herself yet again. And maybe a burger she reasons as her stomach growls in protest.

He pulls up in front of a decent looking bar, and she nearly knocks him over with her door as he steps in her direction.

"Wait, you were going to open the door for me again?"

He gazes back at her without a flinch.

"You are a lady, aren't you?"

She shakes her head, wondering if this guy is for real as he offers his hand to help her down from the truck.

"I'm female," she replies, taking his hand with a measure of reluctance, feeling something that both terrifies and lures her in. "But I'm a far cry from a lady."

"Perhaps you've just forgotten how it feels to be treated like one," he muses, shutting the door behind her.

God, if he only knew.

"Do you also throw your cloak over mud puddles and know how to waltz?"

He licks his lips slowly.

"I don't own a cloak, I'm sorry to say," he shrugs, "But I can two-step. Does that count?"

The thought of being pressed up against him for any type of dance does things to her she'd rather not entertain.

"Sure," she tosses back, trying her best to sound casual. "Whatever works."

The walk in and are seated immediately, finding a small booth cozily situated in a back corner.

"A Sam Adams for me, and…"

He looks at her intently before she casts her attention to the barmaid.

"The same," she states, eyeing him nervously from across the short table. "Listen, I don't know what Ruby's told you, if she's told you anything, but I have a kid. You should know that up front."

He doesn't flinch.

"Boy or a girl?" he questions, his eyes caressing her softly.

"A boy," she replies. "He just turned seven."

This elicits a smile she can't read from him, and he stares at the table a moment before looking back at her.

"Seven," he echoes. "Interesting age."

"Yeah," she observes, wondering just what he means by that. "Interesting."

"What's his name?"

She watches him closely, somewhat surprised he seems genuinely interested in her son.

"Henry," she states, her lips curving up at the mention of her son's name. "His name is Henry."

Their beers are delivered, and he nods his thanks to the waitress, raising his glass to her before taking a drink.

"I take it Henry's dad isn't in the picture," he muses with a small shrug. "Or you wouldn't be here with me."

Her insides clench tightly.

"His dad is dead."

The statement lies cold between them, and her toes feel suddenly frozen.

"I'm sorry," he returns, shaking his head. "That must be hard for both of you."

She takes a large swig of her beer, setting it down in resolve.

"Harder on Henry than on me," she states honestly. "Neal and I hadn't been together for a long time."

"Neal?" he questions. "Henry's father?"

"Yep," she sighs. "He was never one for sticking around. Our relationship basically ended when I got pregnant."

He exhales audibly.

"That can't have been easy, either."

She bites back what she want to say, drinking it down instead.

"No. It wasn't. But that's the story of my life. Nothing has ever been easy."

"Here's to the rocky road," he utters dryly. "I'm very familiar with it, myself."

"Let me know if you ever get lost," she shoots back. "I'm an official guide."

"That's good to know," he grins. "I drew the map."

They grin in sync as he raises his glass in a silent toast of camaraderie, she answering in kind before drinking some more.

"But Henry and his father had a relationship?" he asks, setting down his beer.

"Yeah," she sighs. "Neal would take him some weekends and for a few weeks during the summer. He was a decent dad, just not very good at commitment."

He stares at her thoughtfully.

"It's important for a boy to have a relationship with his father," he nods. "Even if that relationship's not perfect, or the father isn't biological."

Her brow creases in curiosity.

"Speaking from experience?"

He gazes at her yet again.

"Yeah," he admits. "But that's a story for another day."

He rubs the back of his ear, his face unreadable as he licks his lips.

"Do you have kids?"

She holds her breath, the thought that he might just occurring to her.

"No. No wife. No ex-wife. No kids."

She nods, toying with the rim of her glass, wondering if she hears a pang of regret in his tone.

"How did it happen? Neal's death, I mean."

His question hits her soundly, her hair standing on end.

"A four-wheeling accident," she murmurs, staring into her beer, trying to push back a tidal wave of self-recrimination and frustration she can't seem to shake. "It was bad."

She shuts her eyes as it all plays out in her head yet again, the sensation of warm dishwater surrounding her hands when the phone began to ring, the silence on the other end of the line when she first said hello, a broken voice on the other end finally cutting through, the continual inhuman screaming she heard in the background.

"Henry saw it happen," she whispers, her own voice echoing in her head. "He watched his father die."

Her heart thuds in her temple.

"Christ," he utters, shaking his head. "That poor kid."

She chugs her beer, wiping her mouth with her hand as she exhales.

"I brought Henry out here, hoping it would help him. He's had a really hard time accepting what happened, and I thought fresh air, a change of scenery, new faces…"

"But it hasn't," he surmises, rubbing his chin.

"No," she admits. "Nothing's changed."

They drink in silence, her insides churning as they always do when she talks about Neal's death.

"Is he withdrawn? Angry? Lashing out?"

His questions hits her squarely, and she fights down the urge to be sick, wishing her son would lash out. She would laugh in wonder if he would just let out his feelings, just express his grief, just hit something, even her. God, she would dance naked in the rain to hear him cry or scream, yell or curse, to hear him make any sound at all.

"No," she breathes, slamming her eyes shut to reality. "He hasn't spoken since it happened. Not one damn word."

He rubs his forehead slowly before biting his lower lip.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, the sincerity of his voice racing along her nerves. "How long ago did it happen?"

"Six months ago," Emma replies, feeling quite suddenly exposed. "Listen—I shouldn't have unloaded all of this on you. You asked me out for a drink and a good time, not my life story."

His hand crosses the short distance between then, caressing hers briefly before enclosing it within his own.

"I asked you out because I'd like to get to know you," he states. "The good and the bad."

Her resolve starts to melt at an alarming rate.

"I notice you left out ugly," she observes, trying with everything she has to muster up a smile, not pulling away from his touch for reasons she can't quite fathom.

"I can't imagine there's anything ugly about you, Emma Swan," he shrugs.

Oh, God. She could all too easily find herself in trouble with this guy.

"You might be surprised," she argues.

"I doubt it," Killian continues. "And I'd like to meet him sometime. Henry, that is. If you'll let me."

She stares at him, wondering if she heard him correctly.

"Aren't you heading out with the rodeo?"

"I'm retired now," he grins. "Remember? Tonight was my Swan Song. Rather ironic, don't you think?"

She exhales a soft laugh.

"That's right," she whispers, rubbing her forehead. "How could I have forgotten?"

"You have a lot on your mind," he observes. "And I don't think you were anticipating this date with me."

"So that's what this is?" she asks, eyeing him curiously. "A date?"

"Our first date, actually," he hums, stroking her hand again. "If you'll agree to a second, that is."


End file.
